<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>No Strings Attached by TatyanaIvanshov</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689031">No Strings Attached</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov'>TatyanaIvanshov</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Versailles (TV 2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Break Up, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, cute philippe, sleeping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:34:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Monsieur found the Chevalier and his wife speaking on their bed, and was left alone with him to speak about matters of the heart, the Chevalier retired to his rooms where drink found him but he could not keep away from Philippe for too long.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Versailles Missing Monchevy Scenes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Strings Attached</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I realized I've never written any Season 3 missing scenes but we all know how I am when it makes to fluff. I can't help it. I'm afraid I'd just have them make up by episode 2 or something so instead, I tried to find a way that would make sense cannon-wise and would not disturb the rest of the events (events that suck btw, fuck season 3).</p><p>Also, yes, this will crush you, yes, I love Chev and yes, Philippe is baby. </p><p>But Season 3 has always been so surface-level and they didn't dig deep into their relationship like they should've and it pisses me off so now I'll stop ranting about the writers and just let you enjoyzies.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His eyes stung as the strong liquid rolled down his throat, leaving a burning sensation behind. He ran a hand through his golden locks, well aware they were in disarray but having no will to fix them for the tears that rolled down cheeks flushed by drink and weariness kept him too preoccupied for his mind to be anywhere other than on what was lost. Lost- snatched away by forces beyond his comprehension. </p><p>The days were easy. Oftentimes, there was enough going on to keep him preoccupied, to keep his mind off of this. His loneliness, the loss of a piece of him. There were moments his mind would wander away and a sharp pain would surge through his body as if his heart were screaming to him but he would soon be snatched away by someone, given something to do and his mind would be off it again. It wasn’t until all were asleep and his doors were locked that such feelings would begin to resurface. It wasn’t until he was left lone in thought, with not a soul in sight, that tears would begin to fall and at times, he did not even know why.</p><p>Tonight, he knew. He had done it to himself. He had walked into the dragon’s lair. The Chevalier’s mind wandered back and he was suddenly back on that bed, sitting with him on the opposite edge of it, his eyes dull and lifeless, hair trickling down in waves- barely- rather than luscious curls as they once were, now debauched and unkempt yet still, he was the most beautiful man he had ever set eyes on, a nature to him almost ethereal and otherworldly. His heart overflowed with love. And yet here he sat, pain tightening and gripping to his chest, causing amounts of pain he had felt the same way before.</p><p>He’d been scared of losing him so many times in that past, the fear sometimes so strong, he almost took his own life but never had he actually lost him. Never had he been so far as he was now and nothing in the Chevalier’s world was quite as bright anymore. They were tolerable- sometimes even enjoyable but they were never bliss, never moments he wished would last forever or moments he was deliriously happy beyond all reason.</p><p>He’d known misery but this was a hellish sort of agony.</p><p>He chugged down the rest of the bottle and rested his head against the headboard. He was always quite fond of alcohol but anything other than wine was reserved for certain occasions, so most potent tastes had memories attached to them. This specific one was strong, a familiar taste of whiskey the Duc d’Orleans would import special to Saint-Cloud. When the liquid scratched his throat, for a moment he was carried back to those summer nights, running around the gardens of the Château after a long night of drinking and debauchery, at peace in the arms he held most dear in his world.</p><p>He cracked into tears, allowing them to fall freely as if it no longer mattered. It didn’t. No one saw. They were inconsequential, nothing but a headache in the morning would come out of them. He took another swing and tasted the saltiness of his own tears on his plush lips, a bitter feeling turning his entire body into a vessel for pain and despair. </p><p>His mind drifted back to merely hours ago when they had spoken of her, of a woman, one he was so sure he loved but when he- the Prince- turned to him, when the Chevalier looked into his eyes and was confronted with the question- are you really in love with that woman- it was worrying how clear it was. </p><p>How can you thirst for a glass of water when you are swimming in fresh rivers? How can you claim your world is lit by a candle when you are standing under sunlight? </p><p>He used his sleeve to wipe away tears. </p><p>It was so clear. How could it be so clear? Why did the bright blue eyes of this man still trigger in him such love he had never known before? The affections he felt towards him dwarfed those he felt for that woman, turned them into insignificant ants that scurried away and out of sight as soon as sun rays were too bright. </p><p>For months he suffered, for months he pinned and cried for him but at least he knew, wherever the Prince was, there was hope and his heart was still his and when he returned it was almost too good to be true until it turned sour and even the pits of hell could not compare to the pain brought upon him that night. </p><p>He almost felt stupid for having everything he could ever want so close, in the same palace, sometimes in the same room, and not indulging, not finding a spark of joy in the world. It was stupid and he could take it no more. </p><p>The Chevalier put the lid back on the bottle and placed it on the table as he made his way out of the door and into the dark hallways of Versailles, gently illuminated by candlelight that bounced off gold and frescos to reveal beauty underneath, yet rotten and ugly in its nature. </p><p>His legs carried him what felt like too quick to keep up with though it was not quick enough. He stumbled and limped, unable to keep his eyes from drooping and body from swaying back and forth, the walls seemingly beginning to move. </p><p>He walked the path he had walked a thousand times before, towards halls and rooms he was too familiar with to be just simply another courtier passing by. As he stood before the large doorway, the gravity of his actions hit him but at the thought of who was behind them once more dwarfed the punishment of any consequence or fear. He pried the door open as softly as he could and stepped inside, thankful he was only in stockings rather than heeled shoes that would make too much noise.</p><p>He padded towards the second set of doors that would lead to the bed-chamber and opened as softly as humanly possible to reveal behind more light than he was expecting. Confusion washed over him. Philippe hated sleeping with lights on, even in the mornings, he’d make sure his curtains were fully shut before being able to get any sort of rest and always blow out all candles in sight before drifting to sleep. So why were candles still burning? </p><p>His eyes fell to the bed where he looked upon his ex-lover. Once more, he was confused. So many times they had fought over how much space on the bed Philippe would take up, sprawling out like a starfish and it annoyed the Chevalier. But now, he was curled up, in a tight little ball, his knees to his chest and his head resting on the pillow on the side the Chevalier would usually sleep on. </p><p>He looked at his side to see if Liselotte was there and if she’d possibly forced him to stay curled up like that but no, it was empty. The Chevalier walked in, each step falling with great care to not wake him. He got closer and kneeled at his side, Philippe’s face so near to his, he could hear his breathing. The Chevalier admired, tears springing to his eyes at the sight of pure beauty that he’d longed for over a year now as he swallowed back a knot in his throat. Oh, how he missed this, gazing at his lover when he was at his weakest, when he was fast asleep and harmless, a halo almost forming around him, pure as a child. </p><p>His fingers tingled with the need to touch, aching for contact but his thoughts were cut short when Philippe stirred. But he did not wake. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and the Chevalier noticed a tear roll from the corner of his eye, towards the pillow where it dissolved and disappeared. His forehead wrinkled and his nails dug into his leg. </p><p>The Chevalier’s heart raced, chest tightening when a wail of pain fell from Philippe’s twitching lips. He did not know what to do but it only seemed to get worse when another tear dripped and he clutched onto the pillow. </p><p>Nightmares. </p><p>He’d have them often when he returned from war the first time and the Chevalier quickly remembered what would always make them stop but could he be so brave now? Did he have the strength in him to risk being yelled at, possibly worse? </p><p>Another sob and the consequences were suddenly insignificant. </p><p>His hand reached forward and with trembling fingers, he brushed them over Philippe’s dampened forehead soothingly, already earning a desired reaction. He bent forward and he held his breath as his lips made contact with his temples, his fingers going to caress the locks of hair that he moved out of the way. The familiar scent of his lover, his angel, almost broke him into tears but he had to be strong. He pulled back to inspect but as soon as he did, the Prince choked up again so he once again placed another kiss upon his tender skin, lingering and feeling him go limp on the bed. </p><p>He pulled away and smiled.</p><p>“Philippe.”</p><p>He could not believe his ears, the words too slurred and soft to be heard by anyone not as close as the Chevalier was but they were there, he was not imagining. Lorraine, unable to comprehend tried to ration, perhaps he was speaking of his son? But as his mind thought back to all the times he’d soothed his nightmares, he remembered all the times he’d whisper their shared name and cuddle closer to his lover but oh, it had been so long. </p><p>A tear strung down the Chevalier’s cheek.</p><p>Philippe once more sobbed, as if he had been smacked or shoved, his body flinching as he squeezed his eyes shut and held onto the pillow as if he would drown without it. Tears once more rolled and he cried, thrashing in a sudden burst of pain. He spoke but his words were incomprehensible, sounding more like begging than anything else but his movements were too brash and the Chevalier feared if he approached, he may get hurt. </p><p>Worth a try. </p><p>He placed a hand back on his head and soothed them over his hair but it was not enough. So, trying to dodge the thrashes, he came closer and slithered an arm around his waist and the other on his head before he went in to place butterfly kisses on the crinkled forehead at began to soothe away one more as Philippe took a deep breath and relaxed under tender touch.</p><p>“Shh…” The Chevalier whispered, kissing his skin, again and again, its taste exactly as he remembered it. He held back sobs as Philippe nuzzled his face into his hand settling in what looked like peace. </p><p>Lorraine didn’t want to let go. He had ached for this sort of touch for so long and here he had it. So, he got comfortable and was emboldened enough to rest his forehead against the Prince’s. Oh, how he craved a kiss, even if just a brush of their lips, but he could not simply take it. He knew it would be even more painful afterward if he gave into his indulgences and was reminded of the preciousness of those kisses. It would destroy him. He held back but did not leave the Prince’s side until his breath had once more evened and his forehead had relaxed. </p><p>For a bit, all was right in the world and that stifling air had become a cool summer breeze. No longer was every corner of the palace tainted with every time the Prince had kissed or touched him there. No longer was his own body marked with his caresses- or rather they were no longer weighing him down. The Prince had ruined him for all others to come. He had kissed him in every room, on each finger, so that no one could come next without the Chevalier feeling the ghost of his lips there, the shadow of their love. Every kiss from her, he tasted Philippe like blood in his mouth, too potent to go unnoticed, reminding him of the ghost of their past affair no matter how much he tried to stifle it. And now, all that agony seemed to drain away, his soul rested and he was back to a little cocoon far from all else.</p><p>He tried to keep his eyes open, trying not to fall asleep and be woken up by screams, and eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. He mustered up the strength and limb by limb, he pulled away, his forehead the last to retreat. </p><p>He knew he had to leave but it ached him to think the Prince in pain. The Chevalier looked around and found the chair he’d been looking for. His knees were now burning from kneeling for so long but he managed to walk to it and take a seat where he could look at the Prince but be far enough for him not to notice if he did awaken. </p><p>The Chevalier sat for a while, attempting to keep his eyes open, wrapping his body into himself to warm against the cold night that was no blanket around his trembling body. He tried to stay awake, fighting every urge but it was no use. Slumber took him away into the night and he wasn’t awakened again until sunrise when the sun was just beginning to peek behind the not fully shut blinds. </p><p>He was suddenly alert, aware of where he was and his heart began to drum against his chest, afraid he had been caught but when he saw the Prince still fast asleep in the same position he’d left him, he settled.</p><p>Though, he knew he could not stay any longer. He pushed himself to his feet and with great reluctance and hesitation, with a last look at his peacefully sleeping ex-lover, he padded out of the rooms as quietly as he came, slipping in and out, inconsequential and undisturbing with a sad smile that tugged at his lips. </p><p>It was faint, but when he moved his head, he would catch a whiff of the Prince’s scent in his hair or linen white shirt and his heart would jolt and burst with joy. He still believed the lies he told himself, that Philippe no longer loved him, that he had no place in the life of a man as great and incredible as Philippe but his wicked secret was a balm to his pain, knowing that even if just for a moment, he brought upon him peace of mind and comfortable slumber. </p><p>After all, he still loved him and always would. From afar if that’s what it’d take- silently, painfully, but still loving him with all that was left of his heart, to admire his beauty and continue to gaze upon the imperfections the Prince saw in himself, hoping he would remember the words the Chevalier crafted for him each time he started to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He would’ve loved to be there for Philippe, but he would rather not be if he did not wish him to. All he could do was let him grow at his own pace, root for him in the distance. He reminded himself he should be patient with him, and if he would still want the Chevalier, after all this, he would never refuse the Prince. He would take him back in a heartbeat. He owned his heart and soul- Eternally. Because when he whispered into his ear those nights where nightmares plagued him and told him he’ll always love him without any strings attached, through hell itself, forever, he wasn’t lying.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cry with me.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>